


Maybe For Your Birthday

by Krytella



Category: Inception
Genre: Exhibitionism, F/M, Forced bisexuality, M/M, PWP, Rimming, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-24
Updated: 2010-12-24
Packaged: 2017-10-14 00:43:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/143441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Krytella/pseuds/Krytella
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur and Eames owe Ariadne a huge favor, so for her birthday they promise to do whatever she wants all day. Turns out that she wants them to have sex so she can watch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Maybe For Your Birthday

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on the Inception kink meme: http://community.livejournal.com/inception_kink/11005.html?thread=22625277#t22625277
> 
> Note: the "forced bisexuality" tag is there for a reason: Ariadne asks Arthur and Eames to do something they're not fully comfortable with and they go through with it partly because neither wants to look bad in front of the other. In my mind the consent isn't coerced, but it's not always enthusiastic.

"Ariadne. Love. Just who we were looking for," purrs Eames.

Arthur already thinks this is a bad idea. Hell, he knows it's a bad idea.

"You are the most brilliant architect we've ever had the pleasure of working with. And a most gorgeous woman."

She rolls her eyes.

"You seriously think you're going to get out of this by buttering me up?"

"It was worth a try, but I suppose we're both going to have to pay you back. Fair and square, no?"

Ariadne looks skeptical, eyes flicking between the two men.

"It's your birthday next week."

"Yeah. And?"

"We'll be yours for the day. Whatever you want. You can make us watch you try on shoes all day, or something equally vile."

"Arthur would watch me try on shoes anyway."

"That's because he's a complete ponce. You can make us watch you try on shoes. While Arthur wears a velour track suit."

Arthur glares. Well, he's already glaring; this is a level of scorn he's only forced to use on Eames once a week or so. Eames winks at her; Arthur stares daggers at Eames; she says, "Okay. But only because it's cute how Arthur is looking at you like that, but somehow he's still here."

\---

Thankfully, Ariadne doesn't seem to want to make Arthur wear ridiculous clothes. She doesn't want to go shoe shopping, either. She demands simultaneous back and foot massages. She wants gelato because it's her stupid birthday and she doesn't care if Arthur is lactose intolerant, he can watch her eat. She wants to visit the Musei Capitolini, which means hours and hours of Roman sculpture. Eames even seems to exhaust his capacity for making dirty jokes after about a dozen nude Apollos. She wants to go to a nice restaurant and yes, Eames, you do have to wear a suit, you have to be there because your Italian is the best, mine always sounds like French, well, Arthur, if we were going for Dim Sum I'm sure it would be useful that you speak Cantonese, and will you both please just shut up?

Since the point wasn't actually to royally piss off the guest of honor, they try to behave themselves at dinner. They help her finish all the wines she wants to taste and try not to throw too many insults across the table. When they deliver her to her hotel, she invites them in, and who can say no to the birthday girl? That's when it goes a little off the rails. Ariadne is sprawled in the chair and Arthur and Eames sit on the bed. Eames is lounging, as always, looking entirely too comfortable.

"Good birthday?" Arthur asks.

"I still have two hours," Ariadne says, "so don't you two think you're getting away." She giggles, and Arthur remembers how small she is and how many glasses of wine she had.

"Have we let you down yet?" teases Eames. "We already did massages. Any other... personal services?"

"Oh, please," thinks Arthur. But if Eames seriously thinks he's he's going to take advantage of her right now, well, that's what Arthur's here for. Honestly, Arthur knows he's not exactly a nice guy, but he has limits. Especially when it comes to other men swooping in on women he rightfully took advantage of first.

"Oh, I don't really like..." Ariadne trails off when she obviously realizes she's saying something more personal then she meant to.

"What don't you like?" Eames says, quiet and serious for once.

"Just..." Ariadne waves her hands. "I don't get off on normal sex, okay?"

"Obviously, you haven't..."

She cuts Eames off. "Oh, I haven't had the right man? Do you know how many times I've heard that shit? Every guy thinks he's going to be the one to get me off, and then we both feel bad when it doesn't happen. I don't think that it's even about me. It's all their fucking ego! So now I don't let people try. I enjoy sex, I really do, I like my partner getting off, and I understand why they want to get me off. I just like my orgasms to belong to me, you know? And it doesn't work under pressure." She sighs and tips her head back, expressing her exasperation with the antics of all men everywhere.

"So what do you actually like? Have you ever even had an orgasm?" Arthur is confused.

"Of course. Been having them since I was fifteen. It's just, it doesn't work if I'm not the one doing it, you know? Like I said, sex can be nice and intimate. And then when I'm alone I watch porn and get myself off, and I'm happy."

"For certain values of happy," Arthur grumbles.

"No, really. Why do men never believe this? At least for now, it's how I work. There was one guy in undergrad I would jack off together with. That was pretty fun."

"You liked watching him?" Eames has a look, like he's got ideas.

"Yeah."

"And you like porn."

"As long as it doesn't have any skanky fake-blond boob job chicks. That's why gay porn is the best."

"I'm going to pretend you didn't say that," says Eames. "Now, darling, if you can just find some way of getting rid of this stick-in-the-mud here, you and I could have a little fun."

"Fuck you, too," Arthur snaps back. "Ariadne, if he's bothering you, I can throw him out."

"I'd like to see you try."

Give him a gun, and Arthur could take out Eames any time. Hand to hand, he has to admit they're more evenly matched. He still thinks, with the grandiosity of the slightly drunk, that he would kick Eames's ass.

"Boys."

There's a moment where Ariadne just stares at them both. She licks her lips, and Arthur has a bad fucking feeling about this. He frowns at her, because maybe he's over-sensitive but he's almost thirty and he hates being called a "boy."

"It's still my birthday, and you said you'd do whatever I want," she continues. "You aren't going to back out now, are you?"

"It can't be that bad, Arthur," breezes Eames.

"Kiss each other."

Finally, Eames actually looks uncomfortable. "Now remember, I'm not the most trustworthy bloke, Ariadne," he starts backpedaling.

What the hell? She actually got Eames to squirm. So before Arthur can think better of it, he blurts out, "I am," and kisses him.

Eames jerks away and Arthur's left with barely a quick brush of their lips.

"What the fuck?" Eames looks actively panicked. Who knew he could be so thrown off his game by just a kiss? Not Arthur.

"Thank you, Arthur." Ariadne's smiling. "Eames, I'm going to need you to cooperate a little better, or I'll be a disappointed birthday girl." She pouts deliberately as she unzips her dress at the back and pulls it off her shoulders, revealing a lacy red bra. "You're in for a little show too. All you have to do is follow directions." Eames is still sitting straight up, a far cry from his normal insouciant sprawl, but as he stares at Ariadne's breasts his usual attitude drains back into him.

"Crazy bint," Eames mutters, visibly steeling himself and turning back to Arthur. This time, he initiates the kiss. It's somehow both like and exactly unlike kissing a woman. Arthur's never kissed a man before, not really (Chris Nishiguchi in the seventh grade really doesn't count, especially since it was slobbery and entirely unpleasant), and the roughness of stubble contrasts unexpectedly with Eames's soft mouth. Eames is aggressive, sliding generous lips against Arthur's and taking the lead in a way women rarely do. He darts his tongue out to taste Arthur's lower lip, then nips it gently with his teeth, sending an unexpected tingle up Arthur's spine.

They pull apart, both breathing hard. Arthur looks back at Ariadne and she's staring, arousal painted on her face.

"Now that's more like it," she says, slipping off her bra. Arthur's never seen her naked, and he's pretty sure Eames hasn't either. Her breasts are small and round, dark nipples hard from the sudden exposure to air, and Arthur really, really wants to touch them.

"Arthur, take off your vest." His jacket is already hanging safely in the room's closet. Before he has time to think it through, he's following her orders, undoing buttons as his eyes caress her exposed skin. He folds the vest and lays it on the other side of the bed.

"One more kiss, for good luck. Eames, I want your hand in his hair. Arthur, grab his tie."

She's enjoying ordering them around a little more than Arthur is comfortable with, but, okay, he can play along. Deep breath. To be fair, she really deserves it with all the shit she has to put up with from both of them, and how constantly reasonable she is. Reasonable under normal circumstances. This must be a special case of once-a-year insanity.

They turn towards each other, rolling their eyes in a mutual assessment of how ridiculous this situation is. It should be easy for Eames, who's used to acting. Arthur has seen him alter his mannerisms so much that he's almost unrecognizable even without changing his face. Arthur can see then that Eames is back on his game, ready to move in for the kill, and if he shows any sign of discomfort now, Eames will relish in it. So Arthur wraps his hand around Eames's tie and drags him in. Eames's hand comes up to tangle in Arthur's hair, just as ordered, and he deliberately doesn't think about how it's going to mess up the style, because Eames always laughs so hard at the amount of time he spends on it. The kiss is assertive but not violent. Arthur realizes that Eames is, in fact, an excellent kisser. He coaxes Arthur's mouth open, their tongues slide together, and Arthur's breath hitches involuntarily. The man's lips just aren't fair.

"Ties off," demands the director. When they separate, they stare at each other for a moment before remembering to look at Ariadne. Both follow orders quickly this time.

"Eames, unbutton his shirt."

"Now pinch his nipples," she continues.

Arthur is never, ever going to live this down. How did she guess his weakness so easily? He sets his jaw.

"Shit!" Arthur jerks away immediately. She did say pinch, but did Eames have to take her so seriously?

"Softer, Eames," says Ariadne.

Eames slides his hands slowly up Arthur's ribs. As his they move higher, he leans in until Arthur feels hot breath in his ear. Eames is teasing, running his fingertips around, almost but not quite touching Arthur's nipples. Arthur is determined not to react. Maybe he's sensitive there, but they don't need to know how sensitive. But then Eames brushes his fingers over both at once, and Arthur holds still, but Eames keeps going and going and whispers, "you like that?" and Arthur whimpers in spite of himself.

"With your mouth."

Arthur, lost in sensation, had almost forgotten she was there for a moment. When he opens his eyes Eames is bending to his chest and over his head Arthur sees that Ariadne has her dress hiked up. Then there's a tongue flicking over his left nipple and a wet finger over his right and all he can do is close his eyes and tip his head back. He holds back any traitorous sounds for a minute, but his uneven breathing is probably giving it away. It's exquisite, two darts of pleasure shooting directly down to his cock. He's starting to give less and less of a fuck that it's a man, that it's Eames who he often doesn't think he even likes. Then Eames grazes the nipple with his teeth and Arthur hears himself moan, low in the back of his throat.

Ariadne whispers, "yes." Eames's mouth maps Arthur's shoulders and neck, kissing and biting while his hands continue the same delicious torment. He pushes the shirt off Arthur's shoulders without Ariadne's direction. Arthur feels like he's about to explode. He has no idea what he wants any more. A few minutes ago, he would have said he never wanted another man to touch his cock; now he's aching for it and Eames is the only way he's going to get any release.

Eames shoves him down on his back then, one hand pinning his bicep to the bed and the other grabbing Arthur's cock through his pants. Part of him was begging for this, but he doesn't want to give up, not to Eames's lazy grin and firm hand, not to his control. Arthur's mind is spinning strategies and escape routes while his hips thrust up of their own volition, reaching for more friction. A part of Arthur is about to turn the tables on Eames when Ariadne demands breathlessly, "Let him up. I appreciate your enthusiasm, but there are other things I want to see."

When Eames lets go, Arthur shoots back up and moves out of his reach. He can't trust his body. Eames is just trying to get to him, get him completely undone. He'd been too close to succeeding.

"Shirts all the way off."

Arthur carefully sets his cufflinks on the nightstand. He doesn't want to think about Eames any more, so he keeps his eyes on Ariadne. Her dress is bunched around her waist and one hand is buried between her legs, moving over her panties. It's an entrancing sight. She's nearly sliding off the chair and her legs are almost spread wide enough for Arthur to see the dampness he's sure is there under her fingers.

"Now both of you touch yourselves for me. And watch each other. There may be an exam later."

Arthur finally looks back at Eames, who's acting typically infuriating. He locks eyes with Arthur while he unbuttons his pants and drags the zipper down molasses-slow. He actually licks his lips, and it's so over the top that Arthur almost forgets he's supposed to be participating in this show too. As he pulls himself out of his pants, Arthur imagines Ariadne underneath him, her small body and soft skin. Her mouth all over, hitting all the sweet spots again, erasing the uncomfortable masculine traces of Eames. He refuses to think too much about what's in front of his eyes. He doesn't want to feel the roughness of chest hair or be pinned down by those broad shoulders or know what that hand would feel like on his own cock. Maybe he does want to turn the tables on the bastard, drag embarrassing noises from him, make him beg Arthur for release.

Mindful of Ariadne's threats, Arthur spits in his palm and starts stroking himself while he catalogues Eames's movement. They're both professionals at gathering information, and observing details comes easily to Arthur. He's never really watched another man jack off, much less one who's uncut, so it's bound to be instructive. Eames is straightforward, gripping himself gently and setting up a steady rhythm. On every upstroke his hand just grazes the sensitive ridge of the head of his cock. Arthur prefers to go slower (he prefers to have real lube, too), like he's just easing into the hot wetness of a woman.

Ariadne gives them a minute to study each other before she gives another order.

"Suck Arthur's cock for me."

Eames's face betrays a flash of revolt, visible only to Arthur, before he puts back on the mask of a careless hedonist and dives in. It's utterly not fair that he gets another chance to take Arthur apart but a mouth is a mouth, hot and wet as it slides down. He wonders if Eames has done this before, if maybe his discomfort is due to Arthur's status as sometimes teammate and sparring partner, verbal and physical, and not only his gender. Eames presses a flat tongue along the underside of Arthur's shaft as he pulls up, slowly, then sinks back down again. He pushes farther and Arthur's cock presses into the back of his throat and Arthur knows he's pretty much done for. Eames is actually looking up at Arthur whenever he can, telling him with his eyes that he knows he's good, he knows Arthur could never say no to him, he knows he's going to break Arthur's last vestiges of self-control. Arthur hates Eames and his pretty mouth and the arousal that's sparking in his nerves. Eames continues for a couple of minutes, while Arthur shakes and scrambles for the tatters that are all that remain of his mastery of the situation. Finally, he finds one, putting a hand on the back of Eames's head and shoving him down, forcing his lips to the base of Arthur's cock. Eames chokes and gags a little, which makes his throat do something that feels amazing, and suddenly Ariadne interrupts.

"Enough. Play nice."

Arthur lets him go and Eames pulls off, lips wet and swollen, gasping for breath. Arthur can't deny it's an appealing sight.

"Eames, take off your pants and lay down."

Eames gives her a look that hovers between defiance and desperation.

"Don't look so scared. This isn't too bad, is it?"

Obviously not for her. Some time when they were both distracted she got rid of her dress and panties, and now she's completely naked in the chair, legs spread, one hand sliding over her pussy.

"Now lay back and relax. Don't worry, I'm not going to tell him to fuck you."

Still looking wary, Eames lays diagonally on the bed.

"Arthur, lick his ass."

What the hell? That's just... (and one part of him says "break him" and another part says "ick" and a third says "you can do this") just depraved.

He's hesitating, frozen, until Ariadne pushes him into action.

"One last thing, do it and you're free. Come on!" she's practically begging too, close to her own orgasm, and right now Arthur really does want to please her.

There's no way this is safe, but it probably does feel good, and then he's there and Eames spreads his legs and turns his head away, looking towards Ariadne. Arthur wets his tongue and licks behind Eames's balls and then down, slowly. He breathes out, hot from the back of his throat. He means to draw this out as long as possible. So he explores with his tongue, ever so softly, teasing circles on Eames's skin. He swipes a flat tongue up one side, then the other, drawing a strangled gasp. Encouraged, he finally flicks across the pucker of Eames's ass, tongue fast and pointed. In response, Eames pulls his knees up, spreading his legs farther, arching his body into Arthur's touch.

Arthur gives him more, swirling hard around and around, then licking up and down. He imagines what it feels like, hot and slippery over sensitive nerves. He presses the tip of his tongue inside.

"Arthur," Eames breathes.

Arthur removes his tongue to respond. "You called?"

"Don't stop. Just... I need..."

Arthur smiles into Eames's ass and ignores his request. Instead, he slips a finger where his tongue was, crooking it and feeling for the right reaction. Eames is not allowed to win this one.

When he hits it just right, Eames says, "please."

"Please what, Mr. Eames?"

"You know what I want. Bastard."

"Tell him," says Ariadne, and there's no going back now on her orders.

"Please, Ariadne," Eames addresses her, "tell Arthur to touch my cock."

"Tell him yourself. Really, you're an adult. Do you guys expect me to do everything for you?"

"All for you. Your birthday," Eames stalls.

Arthur's still moving his finger gently, his other hand cupping Eames's balls. There's no way he's going to give the man what he wants until he asks for it. Personally. He slides a second finger in, and Eames swears incoherently.

"Arthur."

"That's my name. And it is really my name, unlike certain other people in this room."

"Shut up, shut up, shut up," chants Eames.

"Spit it out. I don't have all night."

"Touch my cock," he finally whines.

"Almost there. I need to hear the magic word, too."

"Touch my cock, Arthur, please."

Arthur smiles and wraps his hand around it. He starts to play, stroking slowly, and then he hears Ariadne. He turns to look, and Eames lifts his head so he can see her. She's completely spread in the chair, a leg swung over one of the arms, and she has three fingers of one hand buried inside herself and the other frantically rubbing her clit. She's staring right back at them as she comes, toes curling and body shaking.

Arthur turns back to his task. He's still hard himself, he'd like to jack off, but he needs both hands for Eames. Eames who's laying there as spread as she was. Arthur strokes faster, replicating the way Eames handled himself, a light, rapid touch.

Suddenly Ariadne is there on the bed with them. She presses up against Arthur's side, still completely naked, and grabs his cock. Small hand, wet with saliva and maybe still her own juices (oh, god). She whispers into his ear.

"You're so fucking hot together. Isn't it beautiful? I want you to make him wait. Take him to the edge and don't let him."

"I can hear you, you know," gasps Eames.

"I know. I like the way you sucked Arthur's cock. Now it's your turn."

Eames buries his head in his arm. It's the first time Arthur has ever seen him shy, so he counts that a victory. Ariadne's making it hard for Arthur to keep his control, but he only needs to keep a little bit ahead of Eames. Soon he can feel Eames tensing, giving off the telltale signs. He's flexing the muscles in his arms, which is honestly kind of distracting. Considering the debauched air Eames often gives off, Arthur likes him in this position, laying with legs spread in front of Arthur and Ariadne, sweating, flushed, hair sticking every which way.

"Back off a little," Ariadne whispers in Arthur's ear. She does the same to him, and his body is thrumming with arousal but he doesn't want this to end yet. Eames keeps his mouth shut for once, but he thrusts his hips in a wordless appeal for more. He pants with every thrust, finally starting to whimper in the back of his throat when he's still not getting what he wants.

Then they're both getting closer again and Arthur is ready.

"How about now?" he whispers to Ariadne, softly enough that he hopes Eames can't hear over the sound of his own shuddering breaths.

"Yes," she replies.

Arthur speeds up. Eames's body winds itself tight again and Ariadne grips tighter on Arthur and he's almost there and finally (finally? suddenly?) Eames is coming, jerking his hips and crying out hoarsely. His eyes are still averted, so he doesn't see the other two both staring at him, at his open mouth and trembling thighs and the come coating Arthur's hand. Arthur barely has the capacity to appreciate it as his body overtakes him. He licks his hand, reduced to a base instinct to put things in his mouth. Ariadne rubs against him and bites his ear and he's falling over the edge too, the bitter taste of Eames in his mouth, soft skin against his body, a vision of Eames laying boneless and sweaty in his eyes.

When Arthur feels like he can move again, he scoots back, wiping his hands on the sheets. Ariadne's apparently decided to keep trying to bridge the gap between the "boys," leaning back on Arthur with her legs against Eames. They're all damp and messy. Arthur doesn't really mind.

"Happy birthday, Ariadne," mutters Eames.

"Happy doesn't begin to cover it," she says.


End file.
